


flyboy

by starbox



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College Student Keith (Voltron), Doctor Shiro (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Parkour, but only slightly I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-26 22:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbox/pseuds/starbox
Summary: “Alright, now go down the hall and to the left to the door with Shirogane on the nameplate,” Matt instructs. “He knows you’re coming. And don’t drip blood on our floor.”Keith scowls. They had grabbed a wad of paper towels from a campus bathroom, so he isn't dripping anywhere. He has to kick at the door gently instead of knocking because he’s staunching blood with his uninjured hand. The man who opens the door is a lot younger than he expected; he looks Matt’s age or maybe a year older. He has kind, grey eyes and broader shoulders than any regular human needs, let alone a guy who practices family medicine.





	flyboy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HedonistInk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedonistInk/gifts).



> Written for the Sheith Secret Santa 2018!

Keith asks it as casually as any other question, but Krolia knows that it’s different. He reaches down to pet Kosmo, who’s right out of range of the phone’s camera. This means he isn’t looking her in the eyes when he asks.

“You heard anything from your old parkour group? They still meeting up?”

Krolia raises an eyebrow but simply answers his question. “I talked to Kolivan right before I shipped out. Nothing since.”

“Oh… I guess he’s not the type to email much.” Keith gives a halfhearted sort of laugh.

“Why? He’s spoken to you?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, I just… you say they're like your other family. So I just wondered if they ever said hello—kept you updated on what they’re doing—that sort of thing.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Yeah, ok…”

A member of Krolia’s unit waves from behind her, sticking his head in from the doorway.

“Hey, sorry, the sarge is calling a meeting about tomorrow.”

She acknowledges the summons and turns back to the camera. Her movement jangles her dogtags and Keith can’t help but glance at them peeking out from the collar of her jacket.

“Love you, pumpkin, but I have to go.”

“Love you too, mom. Let me know when you can talk next.”

“I will.” She smiles at him and waves. “Bye for now."

“Bye, mom.”

He leaves his phone on the coffee table and collapses back on the couch. Kosmo trots over and lays his big head on Keith’s chest. He looks at Keith and huffs in his face until the young man starts rubbing his ears.

“She’ll be back in a few months. Probably.”

Keith throws the arm not slung around Kosmo’s neck over his own face and sighs.

“I just wish I could find the Blades.”

 

 

“You don’t have to be such a sour patch kid, Keith."

Keith merely scowls, so Lance continues, “These teams are all over social media trying to boost themselves to sponsors. They’re easy to find!”

“I’m not looking for just any parkour team,” Keith growls. “I’m looking for _the Blades_.”

“Hold your horses, man, I know that.”

“What he’s trying to say, but isn’t because he’s inefficient”—a squawk from Lance—“is that other teams are basically doing some of our research for us,” says Pidge. “The ones who are posting about local meet-ups usually talk about who else is there.

“I don’t see why you’re in a huff anyway. You just have to post a video audition, right?” Lance says. He starts trying to snatch cookies from the pan Hunk has just placed on the table.

“That won’t be enough,” insists Keith “If I find them, and go to them in person then _maybe_ I’ll have a chance.”

Pidge adjusts her glasses and opens her laptop. “I guess I could try to cross reference individual participants with photos. Maybe a Blade will pop up in there.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Keith stands up from the table and grabs his backpack. “I gotta go to my lab session. See you guys later.”

Hunk shakes his head, watching Keith go. “I hope this works out in the end. He’s so…”

“Mopey?” says Pidge.

“Yeah… hey, Lance! These are for film club! Come on, I promised Ryan!”

 

 

Keith makes it through his physics lab without incident. He wants to do well in his classes but he’s in a slump and he knows that there’s probably more to it than early onset senoritis.  

On his way home from campus, he wants to try a run on an abandoned building he has been eyeing for a while. If it were a park, he would have Pidge and Hunk come along to film him, but he doesn’t want either of them to get in trouble. The apartment building is probably going to be demolished in the next few weeks too, so he doesn’t have much time.

He scales the brick wall easily and after jimmying the lock open on the back door, he jogs up the stairs to the roof. As he had hoped, there are a number of chimneys and vents littering the flat roof space. There is also a raised portion of the building at the front because of the facade that faces the street. He can see a good route already.

He will start by the door for the fire escape and then do a running jump over some square vents in order to scale the first of three chimneys in a row. He’ll jump down from the highest chimney, do a cross shoulder roll, then bounce up and run toward the facade. He’ll leap feet first at the smaller chimney to the left and kick off that to boost himself toward the upper edge of the facade so he can pull up to the highest point. He sets up his phone and does a few test runs of the first part and checks the footage.

Then he ties a red bandana around the lower half of his face and hits the record button for his real run. It all goes without a hitch and he finishes on the top of the building’s facade. The sun is still setting and he watches the red and gold light pass through the thin clouds, spilling over the city below him. He can see cars stuck in rush hour traffic and wisps of steam from the roof vents on buildings a couple blocks away. The streets are busy but blissfully at a distance from up here and he enjoys the taste of solitary quiet. He loves the way his body feels slightly used, his muscles loose—he can feel the faintest touch of sweat on the back of his neck as it cools in the light breeze. He’s barely out of breath but he inhales deeply anyway, just to let it out again. If this is the closest he gets to flying, he could live with it.

But his phone is still running and he has to come back down to earth to feed Kosmo. Or that’s the only reason that pops into his mind at that moment anyway. Rotating on his heel, he looks back at the way he came. He can reverse course the easy way, lower himself off the side of the facade and roll his landing to absorb the impact. Or he can try to jump to the top of the shorter chimney he had used to get up here and then back on the roof.

It’s a long jump but he’s feeling good. He wants to do something impressive enough that one of the Blades will be sure to take notice. Even a leap like this is nothing compared to what they do—to what his own mother can do—but he has to start somewhere. Keith bounces on his toes a few times before getting a running start. It’s a good take off but three quarters of the way into his leap he realizes there is a crack on the far side of the chimney top he hadn’t seen earlier. He doesn’t want to land on it in case it completely gives way, which effectively halves his landing area. He makes contact and bends his knees, reaching for the opposite side of the chimney to absorb his motion. His left hand hits the brick at a bad angle and he hisses at the sharp pain that shoots up his arm. He makes it but has to swing his arms in an ungainly fashion.

He grimaces as he slides down from the chimney. Shaking out his left hand, he makes his way to his phone on its portable stand. _Guess that last part won’t make it in the video,_ Keith thinks _. So much for impressing anyone._

 

 

Shiro isn’t sure how it happened, but in a twist of fate he is still stuck with Matt Holt. Shiro had applied to dozens of the best family medicine clinics in the northwest and Matt had applied to only a handful of places for radiology and yet here they are.

“I guess the Kerberos Clinic just knows how much of a power duo we are,” quips Matt.

Shiro gives him a doubtful look.

“This is just what happens when you’re this skilled.”

“Uh huh…”

“Oh, you’d be worrying about me if I had ended up at some inner city hospital.”

Shiro rolls his eyes but it’s true. The clinic at which they will be spending their first few years has a great reputation. Its location in the suburbs by a college city means that they will have lots of patients to help but they probably won’t be run into the ground by work. It’s pretty much his dream come true.

“Wait until my sister hears how close I am to her campus though,” says Matt. “She’s gonna hate that.”

He cackles until the resident physician comes in and gives him a dire look, at which he flees back to the radiology section. Ulaz is a patient man but he takes his work seriously. Shiro respects that and can see them getting along well. He just hopes Ulaz feels the same.

 

 

Keith thinks his wrist will be fine right until the moment it isn’t.

“Keith, are you okay?”

Hunk helps him up from the pavement after he’s washed out on a landing. His wrist couldn’t take the impact and the pavement has ripped up his left arm and leg too.

“Man, we should take you to the med center or something.” Hunk has a hand on his back, hovering in worry.

“You’re bleeding through your shirt,” points out Pidge. “What happened? I thought you were going to stick that for sure.”

“My wrist is messed up from... another thing.” He feels like a dumbass and he knows he looks it too.

Pidge yanks her phone from her back pocket and starts scrolling through it.

“The clinic my brother is at is close. I guess that would be okay for this… I dunno, I’m not feeling emergency room when you don’t have any gaping wounds”

Keith shrugs. “I was just gonna go home and wash this up.”

She nails him an unimpressed look. “Like hell, we’re letting you do that.”

 

Pidge had texted her brother Matt while they were on the way over and he pops out to say he’ll take Keith first to x-ray his wrist. Keith has known the Holts for years. As annoying as it is to have both Matt and Pidge scolding him in tandem about his wrist, at least he feels comfortable letting Matt manipulate his arm in various directions so he can get the x-rays he needs.

“Alright, now go down the hall and to the left to the door with _Shirogane_ on the nameplate,” Matt instructs. “He knows you’re coming. And don’t drip blood on our floor.”

Keith scowls. They had grabbed a wad of paper towels from a campus bathroom, so he isn't dripping anywhere. He has to kick at the door gently instead of knocking because he’s staunching blood with his uninjured hand. The man who opens the door is a lot younger than he expected; he looks Matt’s age or maybe a year older. He has kind, grey eyes and broader shoulders than any regular human needs, let alone a guy who practices family medicine. Keith notices he also has a prosthetic right arm, with which he gestures for Keith to sit on the examination table.

“Keith Kogane?”

“Yeah.”

“We need to wait a couple minutes to see how your wrist x-rays are, but let’s get you cleaned up.”

Keith figures he’ll call in a nurse to help but he doesn’t, just pulls on a pair of gloves and takes Keith’s bloody paper towels.

“You’re a student athlete?”

“Huh?”

The man smiles warmly and something in Keith’s chest stutters. “I know you’re from the nearby campus and you’re dressed head to toe in Adidas, so I was just guessing.”

“Ohh…” _Why am I so stupid all of a sudden? Is it blood loss? Is it the size of this guy’s biceps?_

“Could you hold your sleeve up for me? Thanks.”

The doctor holds Keith’s elbow and pulls his arm away from his body to dab at it carefully.

“May I ask how…?”

Keith can’t look him in the eyes, but answers. “I was doing parkour and messed up my landing.”

The man’s eyebrows jump up and he grins in a way that makes him look even younger.

“So you’re telling me you’re like the guy in Assassin’s Creed?”

Keith tries hard not to snort in amusement and fails spectacularly. He can see that Shirogane heard his embarrassing reaction, but he just keeps cleaning up Keith’s arm and then tweezes a few pieces of gravel out of his skin.

“Alright, I’ve covered it in a dermal antiseptic so try not to bump into anything for a while. I only bandaged the worst of it at your shoulder and wrist.”

He repeats his ministrations on Keith’s leg, propping his foot up against his hip.

“Were you, uh, were you a student athlete?” Keith asks.   _A guy this big had to have been…_

Shirogane looks up. “Oh, yeah, I played rugby, until this happened.” He waves with his prosthetic arm.

“Sorry about that.” Then a moment later Keith adds, “I mean not in a pity way. It’s not my place to say that. My mom always says you shouldn’t assume people’s stories.”

The man seems completely unfazed. “Your mother sounds like a great lady.”

“Yeah, she is.” Keith falls silent again.

The doctor finishes up and turns to his computer for the wrist x-rays. “Not to be a dog with a bone, but really, can you climb a wall by jumping up it?”

Keith can’t keep his lips from twitching into a smile. “A move like that would depend on your momentum, but I can get up a pretty high wall if there is a nearby parallel structure to push off of. It’s definitely not impossible.”

“That’s pretty cool…” The man’s voice fades off as he flicks through the x-rays that Matt has sent over. “Ah, I was afraid of that.”

Keith sits forward. “What?”

“You have a non-displaced fracture of the radius. We need to keep the radius from shifting anymore so it can heal,” Shirogane explains. “I think I’ll put your wrist in a padded splint rather than a cast, because a cast would be annoying, right?”

He looks up at Keith for confirmation and sees the young man’s fallen expression.

“Yeah, I’m afraid parkour is going to be off limits for a while...”

“How long will it take to heal?”

“Four to six weeks, three months… it varies a little per person.”

_Months of not practicing? Months of wasted time when I need to be impressing the Blades?_

Keith’s shoulders slump. The doctor gets up and grabs what he needs from various cabinets. He takes the young man’s wrist and encloses it in the split, closing the velcro straps. He pulls them taut with care.

“Come back in a week, alright? I want to check your wrist again. And if you have any skin irritation just give me a call and I can get you a topical cream.”

Keith slides down from the examination table. “Okay.”

A strong hand lands on his shoulder. “Just a minor set back. Don’t worry.”

Keith tries to seem grateful because the guy really has been cool about everything. “I appreciate it, Dr. Shirogane.”

“Please call me Shiro. I only just graduated med school, so the title still feels kinda weird.” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes averted.

“Okay. Thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro walks him out to the waiting room, then leaves with a little wave.

 

 

Keith can’t fool anyone when it comes to being in a bad mood.

“I think I can see dark ectoplasm rolling off him,” says Lance, from far enough away that Keith can’t kick him. “You guys can see it too, right?”

Hunk shakes his head, refusing to take the bait, and goes back to texting Shay. Pidge, however, makes a contemplative expression. Keith narrows his eyes at her and mumbles “traitor” under his breath. To his horror, both Lance and Pidge just look at each other and nod in shared understanding. _With friends like these, who needs enemies_.

School keeps him more distracted than he expected though. Professor Coran forgot that they had to fit another large grade in before midterms and now the whole class is stuck with a paper due in a week and half. Even though Coran promises to be lenient on them, Keith uses it as an excuse to lock himself in a library study cubicle.

His check up with Shiro turns out to be the highlight of his week. Shiro is there to walk him back to the examination room and soon they’re chatting easily. Shiro’s professional manner disappears the instant he starts discussing the next international X Games or how far is he is Titanfall 2. He also has a surprisingly dark sense of humor and Keith can’t remember the last time he’s laughed so hard.

“I wish I could show you the city,” blurts Keith, right as the appointment comes to an end. “I mean, from the rooftops, show you, um…”

“Your moves?” Shiro’s voice is teasing, but Keith can tell he’s genuinely interested.

“Hah hah, no,” Keith protests. “Well, I mean sort of. I just think you’d probably be good at parkour.”

“Even with this thing?” Shiro waves with his prosthetic.

“I’m no expert, but I barely notice a difference when you touch me.”

Shiro blinks. Keith suddenly feels his face heat up.

“I mean, your touch is really, uh…” _What the hell? Why does that suddenly sound weird?_

“When bandaging and stuff! Antiseptic!” Keith jumps off his perch on the examination table so fast that Shiro has to scoot his chair back or get kicked in the knees.

“See you in two weeks, Shiro!”

 

Shiro is finishing up his paperwork when Matt sticks his head in the room.

“Hey, you saw Keith today, right? How’s he doing?”

“He’s healing fine, but he seemed a little frazzled,” Shiro replies. He’s frowning slightly in a way that Matt recognizes as _worry._

“Katie is practically living on Goldfish right now. It’s the midterm crunch.”

“Keith is Katie’s friend, right? Are they roommates?”

“Nah, he lives at home because he has a big dog and his mom’s deployed. Campus housing is still no pets allowed.”

Shiro straightens slightly. “His mom is overseas?”

“Yeah, his dad died when he was a kid, so his mom supports them. She’s an Army Ranger or special forces—something really scary.” Matt narrows his eyes. “What’s got you all curious?”

Shiro swivels his chair away and starts shuffling papers in what Matt knows is a blatant attempt to end the conversation. He is a Holt, however, which means he is having none of it.

“Keith’s not a kid, you know. He’s older than my sister by quite a few years.”

“No, I know…” says Shiro, voice low. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

Matt lounges against the cabinets and peers down at Shiro. He notices that his friend’s ears are tinged a damning shade of dark pink.

“Oh shit, you aren’t thinking of him as _a kid_ at all, are you?”

Shiro looks up at him quickly. He sees the expression on Matt’s face and his lips shift into a slight grimace.

“No, Matt, no, it’s not like that... Please don’t get any terrible ideas.”

“I never have terrible ideas,” Matt replies. His smile is positively Grinch-like.

 

Seven minutes later, Pidge receives a text from her brother, which would have informed her that his coworker probably has a crush on her best friend and to find out if said friend is single. It _would have_ , if her phone weren’t face down and buried underneath a pile of empty Pop Tart boxes, pieces from her robotics project, and other bits of engineering student detritus. Sometimes, fate is kind.

 

The rest of Keith’s week is taken up with research and playing with Kosmo to de-stress. He’s uploaded his video from the apartment building roof (edited of course), but while it’s generating gratifying buzz there isn’t anything that can give him a lead on the Blades. On Saturday, he needs a change of pace, so he shoves his laptop into his backpack and heads to a café right off the edge of campus. He gets a large, dirty chai (two shots of espresso) and stares down a couple of lanky poetry majors who try to grab the corner bench he’s been waiting to claim. Once ensconced in the seat, he sticks his red earbuds in but only to block out some of the ambient chatter; the cafe staff’s music selection is pretty good.

He’s been typing away for about an hour when someone knocks lightly on the edge of his table. He looks up, slight glare already in place, but then yanks his earbuds out to sputter a greeting. Shiro is standing in front of him, holding a coffee in his prosthetic hand and giving him a little wave with the other. He’s dressed in dark slim cut jeans, a white v-neck sweater, and a sleek biker jacket. Keith’s brain supplies any number of descriptors for Shiro’s current look, but since they all essentially boil down to _tasty_ he decides against risking a casual compliment.

“Sorry for disturbing you. I saw you and uh, I just wanted to say hi.”

Shiro’s smile is something akin to shy. _How can any man over 6 feet tall with shoulders that sculpted also be this cute?_

“This place is crowded—you need a seat?” Keith scoots over on the curved bench.

Shiro glances around, almost furtively, then slides in next to Keith. “I don’t want to keep you from working…”

Keith pushes his laptop away and collapses on the table with his head in his arms. “Please do. This paper’s draining the life out of me.”

Shiro chuckles softly and Keith turns his head to side so he won't miss any of the subtle expressions on the other man's face.

“I remember this,” Shiro says, gesturing vaguely at the laptop and the café bustling with students. “The deadlines and intense focus—the caffeine addiction. I’m glad to be done, but it still feels kind of nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic?” Keith wrinkles his nose. “I am so outta here when I graduate. I wanna see the world. See what it’s like on the rooftops of Paris. Go to parkour jams in Scandinavia.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Shiro sounds confident in a way that Keith doesn’t really feel. He watches as Shiro takes a sip of his coffee and even he can tell it’s a stalling tactic. Shiro wants to say something, but for some reason he’s holding back. He’s staying though, and Keith likes that he’s staying.

Keith lifts his head off his arms. “Whatcha order?”

Shiro turns to him. “The new monthly latte.”

“The caramel rocky road latte?!”

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” Shiro admits.

Keith is torn. On the one hand, he finds it horrifying that anyone would order that Frankenstein’s monster of a latte. On the other, the slight look of guilt on Shiro’s face has reddened his cheeks and it’s fist-clenchingly adorable.

“Lemme try some,” he says in a rush.

“O-okay?”

Shiro pushes the cup towards him and Keith takes a swig before he can think better of his decision. It’s too sweet and has mysterious chunks in it. The massive amount of whipped cream on the top is still cold and it contrasts terribly with the drink underneath, which is somehow scorching hot. Keith doesn’t like it at all, but Krolia didn’t raise a quitter.

“I like it,” Keith declares. “Tastes just like the ice cream.”

“Yeah! That’s why I wanted to get it.”

Shiro gives him a smile and the pain of Keith’s burnt tongue lessens as serotonin rushes into his brain. As he watches Shiro continue sipping at the horrendous latte, he realizes that he might possibly—maybe—be developing feelings for this man. Or at least a crush, his brain argues. _Just a crush._

Shiro breaks him out of his reverie. “So you’re heading into midterms? Lots of papers?”

“Not usually, but our professor is as forgetful as he is kooky.”

Shiro asks other questions and Keith finds himself explaining his classes and his major and even how he wanted to be an astronaut as a kid.

“You sound like you could head straight over the NASA after college,” Shiro comments.

Keith slides all the way down in his seat to stare up at the ceiling cracks. “I don’t know if I’d actually be a good fit. It all seemed so simple as a kid, but now…” He gives an exaggerated shrug.

“You should take the chance if you’re lucky enough to have it. It’s okay to move on if it’s not for you.” Shiro looks almost wistful for a moment. “It’s just an impression, but I feel like you could probably do anything you put your mind to.”

 _Except find the Blades apparently_ , Keith thinks.

“But my opinion isn’t the one that matters!” Shiro adds quickly. “Don’t give up on yourself.”

Keith nods, contemplative. Since middle school, he’s never had a goal other than joining the Blades. Meanwhile, thinking about what comes after college scares him more each day. He’s realized that he finds it sort of comforting that Shiro is doing okay. Life doesn’t just end when you step off that stage at graduation.

Shiro, however, misinterprets Keith’s silence. “Shit, sorry, it must seem like I’m lecturing you.”

“No, it’s uh, helpful…  It’s hard to see the bigger picture sometimes.”

Keith can see the tips of Shiro’s ears going pink. It gives him weird, stupid courage. He touches Shiro’s hand for a moment, as if to get his attention.

“We should hang out for real sometime—somewhere better than here.”

Shiro relaxes into another smile. “I’ll have you know, I like this cafe.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I do too, but I dunno, we should see a movie or something.”

“That’d be cool…” Shiro’s gaze hits Keith’s wrist brace and he suddenly stiffens. “But I should let you get back to it for now.”

He stands quickly and Keith sits up too.

“Shiro?”

“I have to, uh, hit the post office before it closes,” Shiro says. He’s looking everywhere but Keith’s face.

_Was he just being friendly after all? Shit, was I totally off?_

“I’ll see you around, Keith. Good luck on your paper!” Shiro gives him another wave and then backs away from the table.

Keith automatically waves in return. The moment the other man is out of sight, he faceplants on the table.

“Dammit…”

He has only a few minutes to wallow though before a small hand taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Red. I lost my phone so it’s lucky you’re so on brand all the time.”

“Hey, Pidge,” he replies without looking up.

“I’m sitting down because there are no more seats in this place.”

“Knock yourself out.”

He feels her slight weight on the bench next to him.

“What’s got you down now?” she asks.

“I’m a dumbass.”

Keith can almost imagine her adjusting her glasses before he hears her say, “Yeah, what else is new?”

Keith groans into the table.

Pidge flips open her laptop and starts clicking away. “You can tell me, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He ruffles her hair as she jabs a sharp elbow into his side, but he doesn’t tell her anything.

 

 

Shiro and Matt next share a shift on Sunday, so Shiro has him cornered in no time.

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

Matt merely smirks. “You realize that makes it seem like there is something to tell, right?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Chill, big guy. I did, in fact, try to tell Katie but she’s apparently lost her phone.”

“Matt! Seriously?!”

“Sorry, sorry! I just wanted to get the scoop on your man. You know she wouldn’t betray your secret.”

“There’s no secret--there’s no _anything_. And there won’t be. It’d be completely unprofessional.”

Matt crosses his arms. “Ah, so that’s why you’re so cagey.”

“Yeah, no shit. Of course it is.”

Matt shrugs dramatically and turns to go. “Well, let me know when you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” says Shiro, quietly.

But it sounds like a promise to himself more than anything else.  

 

 

Ever since he was a child, Keith has always been drawn to heights--and lured ever higher as he grew. It doesn’t make any sense for him to dream of falling, but the brain is a funny thing. When he jolts awake from the nightmare, Kosmo is nudging at his arm.

“Hey there.”

The dog whines and butts his head at Keith until he starts stroking the insistent, striped nose.

“I’m okay. Just stress…”

It’s only the middle of the week and barely 10pm, but Keith had crashed the moment he had arrived back from another marathon writing session. His phone lights up. It’s Pidge.

_I found something but you may not like it_

He grabs the device and types:

                       _what is it?_

_I think I’ve found some of your Blade members_

_that’s good, right?_

_I found the one in your mom’s photograph and he has a younger person with him now_

_a younger person?_

_A young woman who shows up with him in photos a lot_

_She goes by Axca and she’s really cool (sorry)_

_Idk why this is bad? you found them?_

_I’ve tracked IP addresses and done other stuff I can’t tell you bc it’s not super legal_

_so I’m pretty sure they’ve seen your video but they picked her instead_

Pidge can see Keith type a reply multiple times but nothing appears on her laptop screen. Finally, he says:           

_thanks_

_at least we know now_

_Sorry, I know this isn’t really great to hear_

_it’s ok_

She sends him some cute videos of kittens afterward and he watches them, scratching Kosmos’ ears the whole time. He doesn’t have any morning classes the next day and he’s too on edge to sleep anyway. The rooftops are waiting.

 

Roughly forty-five minutes later, Keith is standing on top of yet another abandoned building he had scouted on a meandering walk home from campus. It’s utterly dark out, but there are taller buildings on either side of the roof and they shed enough light for him to perch steadily on the ledge. There’s a constellation of sodium streetlights below him. Like tiny orange stars, their color burns ever brighter as they cycle toward the moment they’ll fade. Keith breathes in the faintly oily, city scent of the air. He used to hate it. But it sinks into your clothes and hair until one day, you don’t notice it anymore. The inevitable resignation to one’s circumstances.

Closing his eyes in an attempt to focus, he hears a siren in the distance, the rumble of the last lonely commuter train, the rise and fall of voices nearby. He has his phone and keys zipped into his pocket. Videos don’t matter anymore. _I just have to be good enough on my own—for wherever I go._ He bounces on the balls of his feet and reminds himself not to use his left hand. Then he jumps.

Looking back, he probably should have realized he wasn’t in a good headspace. Usually he can zero in on his environment and how he must move to mold his body around it. Tonight, his own breathing is distracting. His feet hit the next rooftop and he revels in the destructive force of it—he feels the urge to leave a mark. A moment later, he slips and his body slams into a wall, not rolling fast enough to absorb the force. It hurts but it doesn’t make him slow down. Instead, he runs faster.

His lungs start to burn and his side is aching. _It doesn’t matter anymore._ He knows he’s upset; he knows that he’s coping. But it doesn’t alleviate the frustration that he has, nor stop him from pushing harder precisely because he doesn’t feel like he’s enough. He feels like he’s chasing something—someone—that he can’t even see anymore. And that he’s probably been chasing for years.

At least when he slips again, it’s closer to the ground. He’s jumping down the side of a building using the fire escape ladders when he overreaches and has to push off the wall with only one hand. It isn’t enough and the friction of his shoes is simultaneously too much. He tumbles down a half flight of metal stairs, curling in on himself as he hits the bottom.

He stays still for a moment, just breathing. The metal is chilled against his skin and it brings him back to himself. He sits up and assesses the damage. _Shit. My ankle feels off._ He tries to stand and the pain is sharp and unmistakable. He yanks his phone from his pocket and texts Pidge.

                       _you still awake?_

_Yeah, you okay?_

_not really..._

 

Twenty minutes later, Matt shows up at the entrance of the alley where Keith is sitting.

“You’re lucky I’m always on call for emergency cases of stupid. And that I don’t have a shift tomorrow.” Matt’s grin is sharp and Keith groans.

“Come on, Matt. Your sister already yelled at me in capslock. Let me live.”

“Yeah, no, we’re not even close to done with you.”

After half carrying Keith to the car, Matt starts driving them towards the nearby suburbs.

“We aren’t going to the clinic?”

“Closed. Fortunately, your physician is my housemate.”

Keith sits forward so fast his seatbelt chokes him. “No, wait, I don’t want—wait! Go to the hospital or something! Or take me home! This is bullshit—I’m fine! I’ll ice it!”

“It’s not fine and I’m not taking you to the ER for a minor sprain.”

“Matt, seriously, please!”

“What’s wrong with seeing Shiro?”

“I fucked up okay? I get it! Please don’t…” Keith’s voice becomes practically a whisper. “I don’t want him to know.”

Matt’s eyebrows arch in interest. “Oh really now?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face is.”

Matt pulls into the driveway of the townhouse he’s apparently sharing with Shiro and Keith sinks lower into the passenger seat. _He can’t get me to leave the car. I just won’t go into the house._

“He won’t judge you,” says Matt. “He’s the best guy I know. Truly. He puts up with me after all.”

Keith just crosses his arms.

“If you don’t come in now, you’ll have to hobble in later.”

Keith closes his eyes in preparation for spending the night sleeping in Matt’s car.

“Dammit, you and Katie are two of a kind sometimes.”

Keith hears the car door open and then slam shut. _Victory is mine,_ he thinks.

 

Victory is not his. Only ten minutes have passed before Keith hears a tapping on the car window. He opens his eyes, thinking he’ll see a petulant Matt on the other side of the glass. Instead, he sees a concerned Shiro and promptly closes his eyes again to begin willing himself from existence. He genuinely wonders if one’s heart can stop from embarrassment.

“Hey, buddy, I heard your ankle might make it hard to walk. Came out to see if I could help.”

 “I’m fine,” he croaks.

But he clearly doesn’t sound fine. Shiro opens the car door.            

“Just stand on your good leg and put your arm around me, okay?”

Keith can’t look him in the eyes as he gives up on life and gingerly places a hand on Shiro’s forearm for balance. Shiro immediately puts his other arm around him. Keith still wants to disappear, but he would be lying if he claimed he weren’t enjoying this forced proximity

“Come on, you got this. Just into the living room and you can rest on the couch.”

Shiro is patient as Keith grits his teeth and hops along on his good leg. He isn’t carrying much of his own weight at this point, but he gets the feeling that Shiro could probably have just picked him up and carried him into the house and he is grateful that he’s being allowed to walk. Yet it is a gratefulness laced with an odd taste of regret that he shoves aside with another wave of embarrassment.

Once he’s sprawled on the couch, Shiro brings him a glass of water and then breaks out a medical kit.

“I'm so sorry Matt dragged you into this.” Keith’s voice is still hushed. “You don’t even know me.”

The other man shakes his head slightly. “We all need a hand sometimes. And this is what I’ve trained to do. I want to help you.”

As Shiro eases his shoe off, Keith watches him through his bangs.

“This is probably gonna hurt a bit. I have to see whether you actually broke anything.”

Shiro rotates his ankle slowly, gently, but it does hurt. Keith bites his lip to stop from whimpering.

“Good news, buddy, it’s just a sprain.”

Keith fights the urge to roll his eyes. _Just a sprain. Still means I’m completely out of commission._ He leans back into the couch as Shiro wraps his ankle carefully.

“Anything else I should take a look at?” Shiro asks.

“Umm... I kind of bumped into a wall…”

“Show me.”

Keith pulls up his shirt to reveal the abrasion that is quickly becoming bruising. The other man purses his lips but doesn’t say anything, just wipes the area clean and sprays it with an antiseptic. He brushes a hand down Keith’s side while examining his ribs. As in every interaction, he's careful but he doesn't hesitate. 

“You okay to stay over tonight?" Shiro hands Keith his refilled water glass. "I can drive you back to your place if you would feel more comfortable, but I think you should stay right where you are.”

“O-okay.”

Truthfully, Keith doesn’t want to think; he doesn’t trust his own choices at the moment. With Shiro making the decision, he accepts it and curls up in the corner of the couch. When he closes his eyes, he feels something soft drape over him; Shiro has covered him with the couch throw blanket.

“I’ll be right down the hall, so yell if you need anything. Don’t worry about waking me or Matt. We’re used to it. ”

Keith opens his eyes to peer up at him. “Thanks, Shiro. I'm so sorry…”

“You’re welcome. And we’ll talk in the morning. Sleep tight, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Shiro.”

 

Keith wakes to the sound of plates and someone softly humming  _Fly Me to the Moon_. The presence of someone else makes him think that he’s home, but as he blinks at the unfamiliar living room he remembers he isn’t. He sits up and looks over the back of the couch into the kitchen space to see Shiro fixing something at the countertop. He’s wearing sweatpants and a soft-looking white t-shirt.

Keith wonders a bit at the ethics of observing someone when they aren't unaware that you’re awake, but he can’t help but watch. Even just doing something like making breakfast, there are quirks to be observed that couldn’t be guessed from knowing someone briefly. Shiro makes scrambled eggs with a bit of milk added to the beaten eggs. He watches toast in the toaster oven carefully. But he doesn’t measure coffee grounds; he just eyeballs it. These are silly things to care about, but Keith suddenly feels lucky to know them.

Shiro isn’t wearing any socks and his hair looks soft--like there’s no gel or anything in it. Seeing him like that makes Keith imagine what he must look like asleep in bed. And that feels kind of intimate and maybe a little wrong. _I should let Shiro know I’m awake_.

He rustles around on the couch and stretches while yawning. Shiro turns from watching the coffee and gives him a little wave even though he’s less than ten feet away. _Ugh, he’s a morning person, isn’t he... but at least he’s fucking adorable._

“”Morning, Keith!”

“Hey…”

“Do you like anything in your coffee?”

“No, not really. If it’s good coffee anyway.”

Shiro lets out a breathy laugh and Keith thinks his heart may have just physically convulsed.

“You’ll have to let me know if it passes your standards then.”

Shiro sets out two plates and two mugs on the kitchen table. Then he makes his way to Keith on the couch and holds out his left arm. Keith looks up at him for a moment then grasps the offered arm so he can hobble his way across the room to the table.

As they eat breakfast, Shiro tells him about the trials and tribulations of living with Matt. Keith snorts into his coffee and stores away a few stories for leverage if he and Pidge ever need anything from her brother. He doesn’t add much to the conversation, but Shiro doesn’t ask him too. Keith finds himself smiling a lot though--practically before he realizes he’s doing it.

The conversation only hits a lull when Shiro gets up to clear their dishes. Keith limps after him to help but Shiro waves him away after refilling his coffee mug.

“I feel bad... Let me do something.” Keith perches on the edge of the chair closest to Shiro.

“Well, you can tell me about last night. About what happened.”

“Ah…”

_That’s right. He mentioned talking in the morning._

Keith glances down the hallway and Shiro catches him doing so.

“Matt sleeps like the dead. But if you would rather he be here…?”

Keith shakes his head violently. “No, nope. I do not.”

Shiro’s amusement pulls at his lips for a moment, before his expression becomes serious.

“It’s up to you, Keith. Whatever you decide won’t change the fact that I will continue to help you. I don’t give up easily.”

Keith stares into his coffee in order to not have to meet Shiro’s earnest eyes. He waits until he hears the water start running and the clatter of their plates and forks.

“My mom taught me parkour. She was a member of this group of traceurs called the Blades.”

The water stops running.

”When my dad died, she had to leave her life with them behind. I know she misses it. I wanted to join them--to bring them back into her life. I wanted to make her proud. But it didn’t really work out. And I can’t really blame them.”

Shiro comes over to him and kneels in front of the chair. He rests a hand on Keith’s knee but doesn’t say anything.

“Parkour is a lot about functioning as a team. You teach each other moves so that everyone becomes strong as a unit. But I’m not--I have to be strong for me and I don’t think I can be strong for others. I’d let them down.”

Keith’s throat aches and when he blinks he can feel tears beading on his lashes.

“But I’ll get strong on my own and then maybe…”

Shiro sighs lightly and brushes Keith’s bangs from his face.

“Keith, may I say something?”

Keith rubs his arm across his face and then nods.

“I have an extremely limited knowledge of parkour. But I have access to Wikipedia and I looked it up the very first day I met you.”

Keith glances down in surprise at Shiro’s face to see a wry smile.

“Yes, the very first day... Anyway, I read that some people use it as a way to overcome and adapt to mental or physical difficulties. And that sounded pretty cool to me. But I also read that many-- _traceurs_ , was it? That many traceurs do not consider parkour a sport, because to them it is an individual journey, even a state of being.”

Shiro shifts in his crouch in front of Keith and places his other hand on the side of the chair for balance.

“What I’ve learned from life is that you will never be strong enough. But that’s okay. If you are better than you were before--whether that be days or years ago--then you are succeeding. Because life, like parkour, is not a competition, Keith.”

Keith nods but he can’t reply for fear of what his voice will sound like. Shiro must guess that and--after a moment of hesitation--he pulls Keith into a loose hug.

“Hey there, it’s alright. You’ll be okay.”

Shiro is warm and his chest is so blissfully solid. But too soon, Shiro is pulling away and Keith is forced to relinquish the fistful of t-shirt he had somehow grabbed.

“My legs can’t handle much more of this.” Shiro straightens with a laugh and pats his thighs.

Keith glances at the clock up on the kitchen wall.

“Do you have a class?” Shiro asks. “I can drive you to campus…”

Keith narrows his eyes at the clock, then looks up at Shiro again.

“It’s review so I’m gonna skip. Can I stay here?”

Shiro folds his arms across his chest. Keith tries to keep his eyes on Shiro’s frown and not the way his shirt stretches over his pecs.

“I’ll be good and work on my paper. But can I do it here with you?”

The other man sighs and runs a hand through his long bangs.

“Alright. Guess I’ll make more coffee.”

 

 

Weeks pass and Keith is back to functioning without his wrist brace. He keeps his ankle wrapped for now, but he can walk without any problems. Most parkour moves are still off limits though.

It’s an unremarkable Tuesday afternoon when Shiro announces, “You’re officially recovered. You don’t need to come back to the clinic for any more check ups.”

Keith war whoops (at low volume) just to hear Shiro chuckle.

“You should find a physical therapist if that’s something you’re concerned about but…”

Keith waves a hand airily. “I’ll just Google some exercises.”

“That’s what I figured.” The doctor shakes his head in exasperation.

“We don’t all have the time to be running in and out of fancy clinics, doc.”

“Oh yeah, talk to me when your schedule includes full-time employment, punk.”

“Whatever decade that happens,” Keith replies.

He follows it with a laugh though and Shiro gives him answering grin before returning to his desk to finish some forms. As Keith is leaving though, Shiro calls after him.

“Meet me for dinner later?”

“Yeah, sure. The diner?”

“How about that Italian on Main?”

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

“I’ll text you.”

“See you then.”

 

It’s been like this ever since the night Keith slept over, and while sleeping over hasn’t happened again since, going out for dinner has. And going out for coffee. And going out for movies. But it’s not _going out_ in the way Keith wants it to be. Not quite. When Shiro drops him off at his house after their non-dates, he usually grips Keith by the shoulder or just waves after Keith has hopped out. They hug sometimes to say hello but Shiro is a hugger with most of his close friends—something that, if Keith is honest, hurt a bit to discover.

He’s hyper aware of Shiro’s presence wherever they go. If they bump elbows or Shiro taps his arm to get his attention, he feels it on his skin long afterward. Being around Shiro but not being _with him_ —not being allowed to touch casually, intertwine their fingers, or pull Shiro’s arm around his waist when they stand together is becoming a slowly burning agony. He’s not going to push it though. Because even if having Shiro around is going to drive him nuts, at least he isn’t going anywhere. That alternative is so much worse.

Keith is killing time in the student center when Pidge stops by on her way to the computer lab. She's been teasing him about how much time he and Shiro spend together but when he asks her why she finds it so very amusing, she always clams up. When she hears that the two of them are having dinner tonight though, she looks to the heavens and sighs loudly.

“What is it?”

“It’s just… Italian is so cliché!”

“Okay…?”

“Does he like _Lady and the Tramp_? Is that what this is?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re going on about.”

“Get back to me when you do.” She slides out of the seat and gives him a two-fingered salute. “See you, space cowboy.”

“Bye, nerd.”

 

Keith is sitting hunched over on a concrete parking space marker when Shiro pulls up in his SUV. When they make their way inside, it turns out that Shiro had called ahead from the clinic and they have a reserved table way in the back corner.

“The candle is super romantic,” quips Keith as he plays with the red candle on the table.

Shiro makes a sort of choked cough. “Uh, yeah, I guess so. Though mainly I picked this because I know you love good pizza.”

Keith freezes. But his hand is still close to the flame and two seconds later he yanks his now burnt finger away.

“Shit.”

Shiro drops the menu and reaches for Keith’s hand. “Are you okay?”

He holds Keith’s hand gently and examines it in the candlelight. “You'll live.”

Keith leans toward him, elbows on the table. “Damn, there goes my excuse to come visit you at the clinic.”

“Actually, about that…”

Shiro’s voice is serious and Keith feels a tiny bit of panic well up in his chest.

“You’re done with your clinic visits—“

“Unless I get more injuries!”

Shiro gives him _a look_ and Keith shuts up.

“So our doctor-patient relationship is effectively over.”

Keith nods slowly when Shiro looks at him for confirmation. _Where is he going with this?_

“What is it, Shiro?”

“It’s just, with that in mind… I’m sorry if this is kind of sudden or weird. But I was wondering if you’d be interested in going out with me?” A second later, Shiro seems to remember where they are. “I mean, would you like to date me?”

Keith stands up like a shot, which shakes the table and shoves his chair back with a loud rattle. Shiro’s eyebrows twitch in surprise and he looks up at Keith’s wide-eyed expression.

“Uh, yes?! What the hell, Shiro, were you waiting this whole time to ask me?!”

It’s loud enough that the people at the neighboring tables all look their way in curiosity.

“Yes…?”

“Fuck. We really need to kiss right now.”

The neighboring tables titter at this, while Shiro turns a lovely shade of pink across his cheekbones.

“O-oh. Okay, maybe sit down and I’ll see what I can do.”

They staunchly ignore the rest of the restaurant (including a few whistles from college students) and make out until their pizza comes.

 

Much later that night, Keith blinks open his eyes. He’s lying in Shiro’s arms in a mess of sheets and Shiro is breathing softly in sleep behind him. Keith now knows that Shiro gets sleepy after he orgasms and is proud to have vigorously contributed to this discovery. Careful not to disturb Shiro’s hold on his waist, he reaches off the side of the bed to fish his phone out of his pants’ pocket. He’s tired too, and Shiro has promised to come up and see the rooftops with him the next day, but he feels that he at least owes Pidge a text.

            _the restaurant was good_

_we didn’t have spaghetti but we did kiss_

_a lot_  

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize to anyone who actually does parkour; my knowledge doesn't extend much further than Shiro's.  
> (Say hi on twitter! @lostshounen)


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